Lucy Pevensie: Little
by TikiTyler9
Summary: You were older then..." Susan's words ring in Lucy's ears as she stands alone at the foot of the How, watching her siblings march to Miraz's castle, left to ponder change, purpose, and the fear of loss. Part of a series, can be read seperately see A/N
1. Comfort

A/N: This is a part in a series of short stories documenting the story of Prince Caspian through the eyes of each of the Pevensie siblings. Each Pevensie will tell the story of two events, and each event will be split into two chapters. This is chapter one of the first event seen through Queen Lucy's eyes.

I really hope you all enjoy this! This series is the first fan fic I've ever posted, so I'm eager to hear your thoughts. I'd like to know whether I should continue writing and posting these :)

Also, thanks so much to you all who read and reviewed my first part of this series: Threshold. Only up one day and already you guys are making me smile :)

Of course, I own nothing. This all belongs to Disney, Walden Media, and of course, the wonderful mind of CS Lewis. Thanks

STORY TWO: LITTLE

CHAPTER ONE: COMFORT

AS SEEN THROUGH THE EYES OF QUEEN LUCY THE VALIANT

I hugged them all tightly before they left. Peter's hug was weak, and a bit distracted. He'd always been such a comfort, but now his eyes were drifting worriedly to the troops that waited just outside Aslan's How, with Caspian in the front. I pressed myself further into Peter's chest in an attempt to get his arms to tighten around me.

"Just remember..." I mumbled into his jerkin. I wasn't quite sure what I was saying, but I hopd he understood. The way he faintly muttered "I will," as he continued to look off into the distance convinced me that he probably didn't. But right before he walked to meet Caspian, he bent down to gently pat my cheek, and that made me feel a little better. I watched his departing back with tears in my eyes until I felt a new pair of arms draw me in.

In a hug that was completely different from Peter's, Edmund pulled me into a desperate embrace. Just one Earth year ago, Ed had hated hugging, but now he was pouring out a comfort to me that I could hardly understand. He blew a shaky breath from his nose and into my hair as he rested his cheek against the top of my head. The comfort I was feeling soon turned to an ache of dread in my stomach. Edmund was afraid of something, and since neither of my brothers ever feared for themselves, I could only imagine that he was sensing something the rest of us couldn't.

Susan finally broke the moment by placing her hands softly on both our shoulders. As my brother walked slowly to stand with Peter, Sue's turn came. Her hug was quiet and calming, as would be expected from the Gentle Queen. Her padded armor felt rough against my face, but I held on nonetheless.

I was almost crying when I said, "Keep an eye on those boys for me..." She softly promised me she would, before grinning in her smugly intelligent way, giving my hand a squeeze, and following our brothers to the troops. Trumpkin was standing with them already, and even in the dying light I could see him offer me a calloused grin and a tiny wave before turning away. Somehow that made me feel the happiest I'd felt all evening.

The Narnians marched determinedly from the How, towards the forest's edge. The Gryffins, who would later carry Pete, Ed, and Sue to Miraz's castle were soaring just above the treetops, for at the moment, that task belonged to the Talking Horses of Narnia. Their broad backs of custard, dapple grey, and chestnut shone in the setting sun; only my royal siblings were considered truly worthy to sit upon those backs.

As the band of warriors vanished into the forest, I heard a frightened breath released behind me. It was the centaur Glenstorm's wife. The wind was tossing her wavy, ebony hair across her stony face as she too watched her family become swallowed by the dusk and the trees. Her mate and her brother followed nobly just behind their Kings and Queen.

I reached out my hand to grab hers, and the second our fingers intertwined I felt a painful lump lodged in my throat. I didn't know what to say. I was Queen Lucy, the Valiant-- monarch of the Golden Age. But I could say nothing. The two of us stayed there, just outside the How, long after the rest of the Narnians had returned underground. I'm not sure how long it was, but the stars were bright by the time we decided to go in.

I needed to see Aslan, and the closest I could get was his carved likeness behind the Stone Table. The room was empty when I got there, but it didn't feel empty. I could still hear my siblings' voices echoing off the stone walls, and as I sat with my back against the Table, I could almost feel Aslan's thick mane against my cold cheek.

I took my healing cordial from my belt, running my fingers over the golden design, and trying not to think of them-- soaring through the dark sky and into Miraz's waiting grasp. It was terrible waiting here. I'd once been a grown Queen. A woman of stature, with a tired face a, a bow on my shoulder, and a dagger in my hand. I'd been in battle. I'd killed beside my brothers. But now I was little Lucy again, and little Lucy waited. Maybe Peter was hoping I'd find something here... maybe he hadn't truly given up hope after all.

I drifted to sleep while looking into the carving of Aslan's watchful eyes. It was a restless sleep, peppered with images of lampposts and dancing fires. Of Peter's face when I objected to his plan of storming Miraz's castle. Of Susan's smile. And of Edmund's arms, pushing me away in the snow, and then pulling me back tightly in the light of the evening.

It was the kind of sleep where I didn't even realize I was sleeping, until the horn sounded from outside my sanctuary.


	2. Kindred Spirits

A/N: The second part of this story covers Lucy's thoughts as she watches her family return from Miraz's castle. Much of her emotion is based off the fact that when I watch the movie, I noticed that you don't see Edmund at first. Seriously, watch this scene if you can. You can see Pete, Caspian, and Susan, but not Edmund. So I tried to imagine what Lucy would be thinking if she only saw TWO of her siblings walking to the How. Also a few good moments for you Trumpkin fans :) I really hope you guys like this chapter. Your thoughts are always super welcome, and thanks so much to those who have read and to those who have encouraged me to continue with this series. 3

STORY TWO: LITTLE

CHAPTER TWO: KINDRED SPIRITS

AS SEEN THROUGH THE EYES OF QUEEN LUCY THE VALIANT

I was expecting it to still be the dead of night when I emerged from Aslan's How, so my first surprise was that Narnia was painted in a pale morning light. My second surprise was much worse. The number of soldiers trudging through the wet grass was but a sliver of the numbers that I had seen just last night. When dusk had been falling, a small army had left for Miraz's castle. Now only a shadow of them returned.

The next punch to my stomach was Peter's face. My brother and Caspian were marching despondently in front, and as Peter stepped onto the ruins that lay before the How I could see that the paleness in his face has nothing to do with the early light. He looked sick-- like he was about to vomit. It was almost too much to bear. Behind the King and the Prince walked my sister. Susan's eyes were dark with despair as she followed them, watching both of their backs.

The final surprise turned my insides to ice. Where was Edmund? I couldn't see my brother. I searched dozens of faces, but none were his. My head was spinning, and suddenly Peter's heart-wrenching expression made even more sense. Others were emerging from the How to crowd around me, but I couldn't look at them. I felt like if I moved my head I would fall down. I had to push the words out of my mouth as Peter met my eye.

"What happened?" I asked quietly.

I waited for him to tell me, to explain what had happened to Edmund. To say that he had wandered off on the trek back, as he'd been known to do, or that he was currently on his way, atop the back of a Gryffin. Anything with wings, my brother _had_ to ride it.

But all Peter said in a dead, angry voice was, "Ask _him_," and motioned to Caspian.

"Me?" Caspian stopped dead in his tracks and watched my brother continue to march on towards the How. "You could have called it off; there was still time."

Peter stopped just before he reached me, and spun to face the Prince. "No there wasn't, thanks to you. If you'd kept to the plan, those soldiers might be alive right now."

I sucked in a painful breath. Oh God... Oh Aslan... Not my brother. Please, not Edmund. The two boys were fighting, exchanging bitter words, but all I could think about was Edmund's frightened hug-- he _had_ known something deeper after all. Tears were gathering in my eyes and I managed to look over at Trufflehunter the badger. He gazed up at me with his sad, tiny eyes. I wanted to gather him up in my arms and cry into his soft body-- but he probably wouldn't have liked that. Talking Beasts don't always appreciate being used as Teddy Bears.

Finally Peter's shouts broke through my hazy mind.

"You have no more right to lead than Miraz does!" he was yelling. I wanted them to stop; I wanted to know where my brother was! But there are some things you just can't ask.

Caspian shoved past Peter, and as he marched furiously to the How he was followed by more bitter words. "You, him, your father! Narnia's better off without the lot of you!" Caspian was so close to me now that I could see the immediate anguish twist his face, and the knowledge that Peter put it there made me want to crumple onto the ground. I just wanted to be young again. I know I was in body, but not in spirit. All my yearning to return to my warrior-like ways vanished. I just wanted to be little again.

Caspian's enraged growl echoed off the ruins as he and Peter drew their swords, and just as the blades touched I heard a voice break through the chaos.

"Stop it!" it shouted angrily, and bursting through the exhausted soldiers came Edmund. He was as bruised and battered as the rest of them, and this terrible veil of disappointment was draped over his features, but he was alive. My heart skipped a few beats. I would have run to embrace him if I had not then seen just what made my brother's voice so dark and angry. He was helping Glenstorm lower a small figure gently to the ground. Trumpkin's limp body lay on the stone of the ruins in a heap of red hair and tattered rags.

I dashed to his side, reaching to my belt for the healing cordial I'd been fiddling with in my light slumber not more than fifteen minutes ago. I knelt beside Edmund; Susan was right behind me. Even in all this madness, I couldn't help but wonder was Peter was. Why wasn't he kneeling beside us?

I let the blood-red drop fall onto Trumpkin's lips. Then there was that wait. I'd only used the cordial a handful of times, but I was very familiar with this wait. Ever since the first time, when I hovered above my stabbed brother on the battlefield of Beruna, this wait would gnaw at my insides.

Then a raspy breath pierced the quiet, and Trumpkin was gazing up and around him curiously. I reached out to take his hand, but then he snarled, "What are you all standing around for?" So instead I just blew out a relieved sigh and stood as he remarked that the Telmarines were surely on their way. I'd begun to turn away when I heard him say "Thank you, my dear little friend..."

A few moments later I was on my own again. I was standing in the silence of the painted chamber of Aslan's How. Ancient depictions of my siblings and me were dancing in the flickering light of the mounted torches. Susan had gone to a nearby brook to wash the blood from her skirt, Edmund had taken Peter for a quiet talk, and Caspian had vanished into the depths of the How. I kept running my hand over the cool rock of the walls and trying not to think about the pain etched in the face of Glenstorm's wife, the utter despair in her eyes as she stood at the foot of the mound. Just like me, she'd been frantically searching the faces in the crowd for her brother. But unlike me, she never found it. I shivered, and suddenly wished I _had_ hugged Edmund when he'd appeared within the troops.

My fingertips grazed the painting of Mr. Tumnus, standing beneath his umbrella beside the lantern in the snowy woods. I traced the lines of his nimble, goat-like legs and released a small sob. What I'd give to have him back, to be sitting on the beach below Cair Paravel with him, having tea while Susan wrote in her journal on the rocks and Peter and Edmund wrestled in the tumbling surf of the Sea.

"You _really_ didn't mean to leave, did you?" a gruff but gentle voice echoed through the small chamber. I turned with a start to see Trumpkin watching me in the firelight.

I blinked away the tears. "No..." I whispered. "This is home."

The corner of Trumpkin's mouth twitched sadly, and he came to stand right beside me. For a long time, neither of us spoke. We just gazed up at the painted rock, and listened to the hum of the blazing torches. Then Trumpkin tapped a calloused finger against the painting of Sue and me riding on Aslan's golden back.

"So what was it like?" he asked.

I turned to him and smiled, thinking back to a summer afternoon, the wind in my face, the galloping of soft paws, and my sister's arms wrapped tightly around me.

"Like becoming a Dryad," I sighed, thinking of the way those pink blossoms would coast through the air.

He grinned softly and gave me a quick pat on the arm. He then began to walk from the chamber. "You should probably follow me, Your Highness," he said over his shoulder. "I saw your brothers walking to the Table's chamber. They'll be needing your strength."

I wiped the moisture from my cheeks and nodded quietly. As I followed him through the dark passageway, I thought back to his words outside. _Thank you, my dear little friend._ I finally felt a small smile grace my lips. Somehow the word _little _didn't sound so bad when Trumpkin said it.

end.

A/N: Well, that's it for this story. Thanks for reading! There are more chapters and new stories to this series coming up really soon. :) This story is for Rose. Much love,

Connie


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